


Staring Contests

by adrianicsea



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-08-10 07:12:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7835155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrianicsea/pseuds/adrianicsea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alistair can't help but notice that Cyrand stares at him a lot. Just some quick Alistair/M!Mahariel preslash, with bonus AliZev friendship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Staring Contests

Alistair can’t help but notice that Cyrand watches him a lot.

It makes sense for Cyrand to watch him when they’re in battle together, when the rogue relies on Alistair to protect him from the harshest blows of the darkspawn. It makes sense for Cyrand to watch him when he’s talking, even if he’s just telling the unfunny jokes he learned at the Chantry. It even makes sense for Cyrand to watch him when they’re traveling or exploring; Alistair will be the first to admit that he tends to be clumsy. Cyrand’s saved him from the embarrassment of tripping on a tree root or a pebble more than once.

It doesn’t make sense for Cyrand to watch him from across their table at the taverns they visit, when the both of them are a few cups deep and flushed with ale. It doesn’t make sense for Cyrand to watch him when he’s just setting up his tent for the night.

Alistair doesn’t know how he feels about it. On one hand, it’s a little unsettling to find the leader of the group always watching him with those hooded, piercing blue eyes, not a hint of what’s going through his head. On the other hand… something about the attention twists Alistair’s stomach in a bizarrely pleasant way. He isn’t sure which reaction is stranger.

In any case, Alistair learned long ago that sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong results in getting that nose swatted more often than not. So he’s content just to leave it where it is. Cyrand stares at him. He probably stares at everyone in the group like that.

One night, Alistair finds himself conspicuously alone at the campfire. Cyrand nearly always sits next to him before they retire to their own tents for the night, but tonight Cyrand is with Morrigan, chatting with her at her own distant campfire. Alistair frowns as he watches them. He can’t tell what they’re talking about, but knowing Morrigan, it can’t be anything good.

Alistair is just getting to the good part of his moping when Zevran sidles up to him, elbowing his arm with a grin.

“What’s wrong, my friend? Did your Warden leave you for the wicked witch?”

“Oh, piss off, Zev,” Alistair grumbles, drawing his knees up to his chest. “I just don’t want Morrigan to turn him into a snake or something.”

Zevran raises an eyebrow, his grin only widening.

“So you aren’t denying that he’s _your_ Warden?”

That’s—what? Alistair immediately scowls and opens his mouth, but nothing comes out, and he can feel his face heating up. He’s scandalized, but he isn’t sure why.

“I—you – wait, what?”

Alistair’s indignity gives way to his confusion. He pouts, one eyebrow raised, and stares at Zevran, waiting for an explanation.

Of course, instead of explaining, the bastard just laughs. He sobers up quickly, though, when Alistair keeps staring at him in perplexion.

“Wait, wait… My dear Alistair, do you sincerely not know?”

“No, I don’t know! I don’t even know what it _is_ that I don’t know!”

Zevran sighs and puts a hand to his head in disbelief.

“Oh, Alistair… It’s a good thing you’re already sitting down,” Zev starts, his voice uncharacteristically serious.

“Now, don’t be alarmed by this, but… Cyrand is -- How shall I put it…? Rather taken with you.”

“He’s… What?”

Alistair doesn’t get it. Cyrand, taken with him? That doesn’t add up. He’s a human, and Cyrand is Dalish. Besides, Cyrand doesn’t—

“Come now, Alistair, think about it. Have you ever seen him stare at anyone else the way he stares at you? And has he ever let any woman do more than say hello to you in the taverns?”

Alistair frowns to himself as he thinks back, retracing memories of all his time with Cyrand. Now that he really thinks about it, Alistair can’t remember a single time Cyrand has given any woman more than a polite greeting, outside of Grey Warden business. And, when he thinks harder, Alistair realizes that anytime a woman tries to approach him off the battlefield, Cyrand is always quick to shut them down with a kind, but firm, “Sorry, but we have important business to attend to.”

“I…”

Alistair can feel the heat in his cheeks rising higher.

“I thought he just didn’t like dealing with humans.”

Instead of laughing like Alistair expects him to, Zevran actually sighs and places a sympathetic hand on his shoulder.

“If that were the case, Alistair, why would he spend so much time talking to you? And watching you, for that matter?”

“Because…”

The pieces finally line up in Alistair’s head. He sits bolt upright, staring at Zevran in shock.

“He _is_ taken with me.”

Zevran does laugh then, though it’s far more gentle than what Alistair was expecting.

“That’s putting it mildly. As someone who knows of these things well, take it from me: Cyrand doesn’t want anything… or any _one_ … except for you. Much to my chagrin.” Zevran sniffs to punctuate his statement. “I suppose there’s no accounting for taste after all.”

Alistair is so caught up in his thoughts, he doesn’t even react to Zevran’s insult. The twisting in his stomach that only seems to happen when Cyrand is concerned is stronger than ever before.

“I… Um. So… What do I do?” he asks Zevran, voice as small and unsure as he feels.

Zevran chuckles again. Still patient, he says, “That’s up to you, Alistair. What do you think of our dear Warden?”

That’s an easy question, Alistair thinks. He values Cyrand’s friendship, he knows that much. And he feels a certain connection with Cyrand that he’s never felt with anyone else before; Alistair supposes that’s a logical outcome of being the only two Wardens left in Ferelden. He admires Cyrand, not only for his skills and his leadership, but for his sense of humor and his respect for everyone, Alistair included. But more than that…? He’s never considered… He’s always thought…

Well. Hasn’t he? Certainly there were never any men in Redcliffe or the Chantry that made him… Well, maybe there would have been if there had been a man like Cyrand…

Oh. _Oh._

“Oh, Maker,” Alistair mumbles, his eyes going wide. Zevran laughs again, and it finally sounds like the laugh Alistair has come to expect from him.

“Then you know what you should do,” he says. He stands and dusts off his knees, preparing to return to his own tent for the night. “My work here is done.”

Alistair watches as Zevran leaves, his mind adrift in a sea of realizations. Just before Zevran ducks into his tent, Alistair calls out, “Hey, Zev!”

Zevran looks up, head tilted to one side.

“Yes, Alistair?”

Alistair gives Zevran a bashful smile.

“Thank you.”

Zevran smiles back for a moment, before returning to his usual devilish smirk.

“Yes, well. You have two weeks to do something about this before I start going Cyrand myself.”

“Wait, what?!”

But Zevran is already gone.

“Zev…? That was a joke, right? A joke?”

No answer. Alistair gives a heavy sigh and slumps lower over his knees.

“Maker,” he repeats to himself as he stares at the flames of the campfire.

“Something wrong, Alistair?”

Alistair jumps at the sound. Realizing that someone is standing next to him, he looks up to see Cyrand watching him with a bemused expression. Alistair laughs nervously and waves Cyrand’s concern off as he scoots over, making room on his blanket for Cyrand to sit.

“Oh, no, don’t worry about me,” Alistair says, maybe just a bit too quickly. “I was just worried that Morrigan was going to turn into a spider and eat you, that’s all.”

Cyrand laughs as he claims his usual spot next to Alistair.

“She really isn’t as bad as you think she is.”

“Yeah, well…”

Alistair looks up at Cyrand.

“Forgive me if I’m a bit protective.”

Cyrand smiles, but there’s a hint of confusion and something else in his eyes. Something that Alistair doesn’t recognize, but it has his stomach in knots.

Cyrand stares at Alistair.

Alistair stares back.


End file.
